Land of Enchantment

We live in evident comfort,
The peace of the shelter
Illusioned contentment that blinds
As it smothers and numbs
To all sensation of life and love.

And yet allow the pitiful worries
Of Flesh and Blood to
Destroy our own bodies.
We feel the burn of pettiness
And tragic mediocrity,
But leave untouched
Princes and principalities
Who turn away from us;
We are no threat.
They roam about the high places
As we wallow in our crushing ease.

And we thank the Creator
That we feel no discomfort
As he shakes us by the shoulders
And screams, “Wake up!”